


under fluorescents, in falsehoods

by fruitelves



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Coming Out, Despair Disease (Dangan Ronpa), Developing Relationship, First Kisses, I have no idea how to write, M/M, Sexuality, dicks are mentioned but not used, discussions of lymphoma and all that, hinata's so fucking stupid, komaeda is so sick, rated m just to be safe it doesn't really need to be lol, sdr2 chapter 3, sdr2 spoilers but only kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-30 10:25:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14494911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fruitelves/pseuds/fruitelves
Summary: When the strangest person you've ever met starts calling your name under the heat of a strange fever, what do you do?No seriously, what do you do?Hajime's not quite sure.





	under fluorescents, in falsehoods

**Author's Note:**

> I've been into SDR2 since 2013 and I'm only just now writing my own fanworks because that's life I guess. I kind of have a ...thing for despair disease Komaeda and I hated how Hinata was such a fuckin idiot in canon when Komaeda wanted to see him. I gave him a second chance.

“So, y-yeah, he’s been asking for you.” Tsumiki brushed a lock of dark purple hair behind her ear and bent over the hospital bed in front of her, dabbing a wet cloth over her patient’s forehead. Hajime was currently standing awkwardly in the corner of one of the few better-kept rooms on the first floor of the hospital on Jabberwock’s third island. Out the window, he could see the late-afternoon sun shining on the scorched earth, and across a vast expanse of desert-like sidewalk, he could see the strangely-named music venue. Hajime hated this particular island, with its too-bright sun and nearly post-apocalyptic feeling. He wished he could be back in his cottage reading(or more likely moping around), or back at the diner with Souda, or anywhere else but here. The hospital was horror-movie worthy. And not in the good way. But he’d been called here by Tsumiki, and it sounded… somehow urgent.

Across the room, where the Ultimate Nurse stood, trembling, the hospital bed was occupied by a very sickly-looking young man, whose face was half-buried in the flat-looking pillow beneath his head. The rest of his face was mostly obscured by limply curled white hair, some strands falling into his open mouth as he breathed roughly, his weakened lungs loudly rattling with each rise and fall of his chest. 

“Why does he want to see me? He’s barely even awake,” Hajime half-asked, half-complained, knowing that Komaeda wasn’t exactly the most… trustworthy of their classmates. He didn’t think he’d try to kill again after his last plot was discovered and foiled so easily, but he was certainly unpredictable. Looking at him now, though, teetering between waking and sleep, sweat pooling under him as he shook violently in his hospital gown, Hajime knew this wasn’t a man capable of hurting anyone.

“I-I don’t know! I’m s-sorry! I… can’t really tell what he… what he means when he talks… but since he started breathing again he w-won’t stop mentioning you.” Tsumiki folded her hands in front of her face, as if begging for forgiveness despite having done nothing wrong. “I thought if we brought you to him he might f-feel better...”

“Wait, what do you mean, started breathing? Did he stop?” Hajime walked over to the side of the bed, looking down at Komaeda, whose eyes were still closed, but was definitely awake based on the way he was licking his lips and twisting his hands around in the thin hospital sheet. It was an alarming thing to hear- he had stopped breathing? He didn’t think a fever could do that to someone so quickly. Hajime suddenly felt sick with worry looking at the writhing body of his classmate, thinking about what could have happened if they didn’t have such a talented nurse around when Komaeda’s breathing had stopped.

He wondered if there would be a class trial, but more importantly, he wondered what it would have been like to see Komaeda die. It made him shudder, imagining his body still and even more pallor than he usually was. And as strange as it sounded, he couldn’t stomach the thought of their lives without Komaeda. He was strange, and sometimes downright terrifying, but he was helpful, and often amusing, and he’d been Hajime’s first real friend after they’d arrived, and as bizarre as he was, they were still friends, and sometimes he was just soothing to stare at, and… and Hajime realized Tsumiki had been talking and he’d been thinking about Komaeda’s eyes.

“But since I was here and I had all the medicine and equipment I could carry from the pharmacy and the market, a-and the stuff in my cottage… I was able to drain the fluid and get him breathing again.” Fluid? What? Hajime didn’t know what Tsumiki’d been talking about, but he pretended he’d been listening by solemnly nodding. He’d momentarily forgotten her uncanny ability to read other people’s expressions, and watched her eyes go wide in horror. “Am I b-boring you with medical talk?! I’m so sorry, Hinata-kun, I always do this… please forgive me…” She grabbed the side of her face with one hand and the collar of Hajime’s shirt with the other, as if she thought he was going to disappear. 

“You didn’t bore me, Tsumiki-san, I’m just a bit stupid,” he replied, hoping it came across as a joke, not actually wanting the girl to think of him as stupid, using his own hand to gently remove her painfully tight grip that was almost choking him with his own tie. “But why do you think he’s gotten so much sicker than Mioda-san and Owari-san?” The two girls in the rooms next door weren’t in perfect condition, but they were certainly not in danger of dying of lung failure or anything of the sort. On his way into Komaeda’s room, in fact, Hajime had been assaulted by a very loud Owari who was begging him to help her. Help her with what, she never clarified. 

“Well, I, um, I think it’s safe to assume the fever is being aggravated by his cancer, but-”

“Wait, huh?” Hajime knew interrupting Tsumiki was a dangerous game, but he couldn’t allow her to continue without clarification. “His  _ cancer? _ What do you mean?” The conversation sounded familiar, but he wasn’t expecting Tsumiki to bring it up. The only other time it had been discussed had left Hajime with a few questions. 

“W-well, he has lymphoma, which is a type of blood cancer, and it’s pretty malignant, s-so his immune system is compromised, and his body is too weak to fight the virus. Or, whatever this disease is. Even I can’t tell…” Tsumiki looked down at the patient and put her hand to his arm, a smile perking up on his face. 

“Oh.” Hajime didn’t know what else to say. He felt guilty. “He told me that, but I thought he was joking.” It sounded stupid coming out of his mouth, and he knew that.

Tsumiki gasped and removed her hand from Komaeda’s wrist, placing it over her heart. “Who would joke about something so horrible?” she pleaded, looking at Hajime with what looked like genuine disgust in her eyes. It was a strange look for her. He didn’t expect any other reaction, however. He felt like an ass.

For some reason, though, he felt the need to defend himself on some minimal level. “Well, I don’t know, he’s a weird guy, he says a lot of things,” Hajime laughed as the words fell out of his mouth. Komaeda did say a lot of things.

Who else laughed but the patient himself, suddenly sitting up a bit in his bed, as if appreciating Hajime’s acknowledgement of his bizarre personality. 

“Well, he’s definitely not joking. He definitely has lymphoma.” Tsumiki looked down at Komaeda, who was now staring up at the two of them with lazy, bloodshot green eyes. “I couldn’t run a proper blood test. There’s a serious lack of oncology equipment on this island.” Hinata wasn’t sure why an island resort would have oncology equipment, but he admired how confident Tsumiki could sound when the conversation turned medical. “Though there are a good amount of chemotherapy agents in the pharmacy. Maybe we should try those on him after he recovers from this…” 

Komaeda yawned, and Hajime tried to blink back the idea of Komaeda trying to cure a terminal disease while trapped in the killing game. It was almost ironic, and almost funny, but far too depressing to be entertained. 

“Komaeda-kun, do you mind if we touch you?” Tsumiki asked, delicately, bending at the knees to look her patient in the eyes. Without provocation, she jumped back almost an entire foot, startled by her own words. “Oh my g-goodness, I didn’t mean that in any kind of dirty way, I promise! Oh, you must hate me, I’m so sorry!” Her eyes were filling with tears, and Hajime wasn’t sure what to say. Before he could say anything, though, another voice cut into the room. 

“Tsumiki-san,” Komaeda’s voice was even raspier than usual, and stumbled awkwardly across his tongue and into the dank room. Something about the way Komaeda said the nurse’s name made Hajime shudder, but it wasn’t a bad shudder. “I would hate it if someone as hopeless as you touched me.” He cocked his head ever so slightly and shut his eyes, one of his classic slightly-creepy, slightly-endearing smiles making itself seen. For the remark, which was extremely unlike the self-proclaimed Ultimate Ultimate Fanatic, Komaeda’s facial expression was  _ very _ in character.

“T-thank you, Komaeda-kun,” Tsumiki said, clearly relieved that she had not been misinterpreted, extending her left hand to the right side of Komaeda’s neck.

“W-wait, Tsumiki-san, he just said no, why are you-”

“His despair symptom is lying, remember, Hinata-kun?” Tsumiki asked, resting her hand on the side of Komaeda’s neck, casting a concerned look at the pale skin. 

“He’s still lying even after he almost died?” Hajime figured it would be difficult to maintain his constant lies after he’d practically died. 

“He can’t help it, it’s like the wires in his brain were crossed.” Tsumiki looked down at Komaeda again, before turning back to Hajime with a serious look in her eyes. “Not that there are wires in our brains.” Hajime admired just how seriously she took her medical expertise- she couldn’t even let a metaphor fly by. “Komaeda-kun, what color is your hair?” The question took Hajime by surprise- it was not only unrelated, but obvious.

“It’s black, can’t you see?”  _ Oh. Of course. She’s showing me how he lies. _

“See?” Tsumiki almost teasingly asked Hajime, the simple question accompanied by a girlish giggle. She then gently but determinedly took Hajime’s hand in her own, grabbing it by the bottom of his wrist, and guided it towards Komaeda’s neck.

Hajime struggled to hide a gasp as his hand connected with the flesh beneath Komaeda’s jaw. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be doing, but Tsumiki seemed excited to show him whatever it was. 

“That’s a lymph node… you can feel the tumor there. That’s how I figured out his disease. He wouldn’t tell me until I found it myself.” 

Hajime supposed that was why, when he did tell him, he had backtracked and told him it was all a work of fiction. A lie about a lie, that the truth it revolved around was only being revealed during a period of nothing  _ but _ lies. Hajime couldn’t really unpack the situation in his head. It was befitting of Komaeda. 

Moving his hand ever so slightly across the other man’s skin, taking it upon himself to sit down in the folding chair at the side of the bed, Hajime suddenly realized just how creepy and uncomfortable the action was. Komaeda’s pale skin was sticky with sweat, and stray white curls were tickling Hajime’s fingers. The action was strangely intimate, but not really in a nice way. For God’s sake, he was  _ caressing _ his fucking cancer cells. They were pronounced on the side of his jaw, and Hajime wondered how he’d never noticed the slight bump that arose at the top of his neck, teeming with disease. It was creepy. It was really, really creepy, and pretty depressing. But before Hajime could retract his hand, Komaeda’s flew up to meet it, keeping it in place as he rubbed his cheek ever so slightly against the palm, leaning into the touch like a housecat.

“I can’t stand it when Hinata-kun touches me,” he breathed, opening his eyes directly into Hajime’s, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink. 

Hajime could barely stutter out any response, nevertheless a coherent one. “Well, I, um, am sorry if-”

“He’s lying, remember? You have to… um… flip what he says, or… or don’t! I don’t matter, I’m sorry!” Hajime hated hearing the confidence disappear from her voice again to be replaced with the self-deprecation she was known for. Truth be told, he hated hearing her voice in that room at all. The moment he’d been having with Komaeda felt so strangely intimate he forgot she was there, and now he was embarrassed. 

“I’m begging you, stop touching me, Hinata-kun. You’re disgusting.” The words spoken in that scratchy, suggestive voice were almost hurtful. He knew that there was no real malice behind them, but still, they felt real. Hajime’s arm was starting to hurt, though, holding it above his shoulder as his fingers brushed near the bottom of the slightly taller man’s face. He dropped it into Komaeda’s lap instead, leaving it to lay limply in the bony and pale hand that rested atop the sheets. Komaeda’s eyes went wide and continued to switch between gawking at their now-connected hands atop his thigh and staring directly into Hajime’s soul.

“Maybe you can help him feel better,” Tsumiki suggested nervously. “I can leave, y’know, since he seems to be, um, stable…”  _ Thank God,  _ Hajime thought, eternally and divinely grateful that she’d gotten the hint. When he heard the rusted door shut behind his back, he breathed a sigh of relief. Komaeda just continued to stare at him, looking like a deer in headlights. His eyes, though tired, were still that alluring shade of green-gray, and Hajime couldn’t bring himself to look away.

“Why did you want me to come see you?” Hajime asked, now that the two men were alone and Tsumiki couldn’t interrupt. “Of all the Ultimates, I figured I would be the least, um, what would you say… hope-inspiring.” He didn’t expect his forgotten talent was at all medical. If it was, he probably wouldn’t have felt so useless for the past few days. 

“Because I don’t like you. You’ve always been rude to me, your presence disgusts me and I can’t stand the sight of you.” Hajime thought he might be starting to get the hang of this whole find-the-truth-in-the-lie situation. 

“But you’re so obsessed with talent, and I don’t even know mine… I’m not as interesting as the others… and…” He didn’t know what else to say. He just wasn’t interesting. And Komaeda was, well, not to romanticize his instablity, but he was truly fascinating. Among all his quirks, though, he wasn’t known for being of sound logic, so it might have been difficult to get a straight answer out of him. Komaeda simply shrugged.

“Okay, so you like me, but- wait." A  _ straight _ answer… maybe that was the problem. A straight answer might have been the exact opposite of what he was looking for. 

Hajime suddenly felt like a schoolboy wondering about whether his crush liked him. “In w-what way?" He supposed Komaeda had never seemed like the most heterosexual of men, but he never gave any thought to whether he was actually gay. It would… explain a lot of things, though. Komaeda just blushed, unable to conjure up even a fever-induced lie. His left hand tensed in Hajime’s right. The palm was freezing and bit sweaty, but the touch wasn't unpleasant. Komaeda was moving his thumb gently across the back of Hajime's hand, probably out of nervousness, and seemed unaware that he was doing it. 

Suddenly very aware of Komaeda's touch, and his eyes on him, Hajime stuttered. he didn’t stop to think of how unpolished, thoughtless and downright  _ rude  _ his next sentence would sound. "Komaeda, are you gay?" He regretted asking as soon as he saw Komaeda's blush spread across his entire face, contrasting his creamy-white hair, which was matted with sweat, his bangs stuck to his forehead. The blush initially scared Hajime since he'd just learned that Komaeda did, in fact, have a malignant blood cancer, but as limited as Hajime's medical knowledge was, he knew that there was probably no harm in blushing, lymphoma or no. A small sound left Komaeda’s throat, almost like a squeak.

"Y-you don't have t-" Hajime started, not wanting to force Komaeda to answer such a personal question that wasn’t relevant in the slightest.

"Um, n-no, i'm not gay, Hinata-kun." He couldn't tell if that was a lie or not, based on the fact that he could have been trying to lie, and was forced to tell the truth by the disease. But that didn't make any sense, and a guy as calm and unbothered as Komaeda usually was wouldn't be blushing that hard if Hajime hadn't discovered the truth. Hajime knew his mind was just trying to avoid the obvious.

It wasn't that he had had a problem with Komaeda being gay, he literally couldn't care less(he had a sneaking suspicion that there were very few people on this island, if any, who were actually straight). But the conversation was causing a series of metaphorical light bulbs to light up in Hajime’s mind, including but not limited to: the current grip on his right hand, the delicate and familiar way Komaeda treated him even when he wasn't hospital-bound, when they were just moving through the killing game as "normal"; he thought of the way Komaeda said his name, the low, breathy "Hinata-kun" that was peppered into every sentence even when it didn't need to be, as if Komaeda savored the taste of each syllable. Hajime realized in that moment, the supposedly lucky student's pale and clammy hand resting in his own, that going through the rest of this horrible game would be made only that much more difficult knowing that a cryptic, possibly dangerous, and painfully beautiful boy was harboring a secret love for him. 

Wait. Huh?

Hajime backtracked on his thought. Painfully beautiful? Where did that come from?

He wasn't wrong, though. He couldn't deny that Komaeda was... pretty. As strange and unnatural as his cloud of white hair was, it framed his long and angular face perfectly, and his now-bloodshot laurel green eyes usually danced with light, so often lit ablaze with hope, even with the ever-present purple-ish bags that Hajime now realized were probably due to his cancer. 

Hajime might have liked seeing the girls in their swimsuits at the diner that one tragic day, but he never thought of himself as straight. He was just as bisexual as Komaeda was pretty. 

And Komaeda was, apparently, just as  _ gay _ as he was pretty. It did explain a lot. About Komaeda as a person, about their relationship as it stood, about their oft-unspoken connection.

"U-um, Hinata-kun, I'm so glad i've embarrassed myself like this," Komaeda started again, shutting his eyes and obscuring his mouth all the way to the side of his face, as if he was trying to get the words to stop coming. 

"It's fine, Komaeda. I don't mind. I, I'm, um, actually glad you told me."

"Huh?" there was no lie in his little interjection, as he turned back to Hajime, his face still the color of Souda's hair, thin white eyebrows receding as far back as they probably were physically capable. "I-i'm not disgusting at all..."

"You're joking. Komaeda, being gay doesn't make you disgusting."

"I, I, um...."

Suddenly, Hajime knew what he had to do. he finally removed his hand from Komaeda's, eliciting a disappointed noise from his throat, before receiving a much more shocked(albeit obviously excited) noise as he placed both hands on the side of Komaeda's face. The slightly damp white curls under his fingers were surprisingly soft even with the lack of washing they had been subjected to over the past few days. 

Komaeda whimpered as Hajime drew closer to him, closing the distance between their faces. The kiss was gentle, and tense, but it was warm, and as he felt Komaeda gasp, sucking the air out from behind his own lips, Hajime smiled through it. 

He wasn't sure what kind of realization it was. He knew that Komaeda was... well, difficult, and didn't quite understand human relationships(not necessarily romantic, or even platonic, but just any kind of socialization between people), but in that moment, all he wanted to do was hold him and breathe him in. He knew he couldn't let the, albeit awkward, incredibly intimate and, well, brutally real, moment pass them by. 

Komaeda seemed to have the same idea as he did, his gown-draped arms reaching around Hajime's back as he finally allowed himself to accept the contact, leaning into the kiss and breathing heavily in between movements of his lips. Oh, his lips, how soft they were, like his skin, like his hair(which Hajime currently had his hands tangled in)- Hajime wondered how such a strange, trauma-hardened 18-year-old boy(this was an estimation on all of their parts, since they had no idea how many years of memories had been stolen from them) could feel so soft, like 1000-count sheets beneath his hands. 

After what felt like an eternity of sloppily kissing, Komaeda leaning over the side of the hospital bed, the two of them desperately exploring each other’s mouths, drinking in each other’s scents, Hajime felt Komaeda’s thin right hand drift underneath his button-down, towards the elastic of his boxers, causing a, well, interesting feeling to spread to Hajime’s stomach and… below that. Caught up in the heat and desire raging through his body, Hajime let Komaeda’s hand come way too close to his now-growing erection before he realized just what the hell he was doing.

“Nggh- Komaeda, stop, I-” he withdrew his tongue from Komaeda’s mouth, his hands from his hair, wiping their combined saliva from his chin. Komaeda’s hand flew from under Hajime’s underwear to back by his side under the hospital bed sheets, a disappointed and embarrassed look appearing on his sickly face; and oh, goddamnit, there was that sickeningly adorable blush on his face.

“I expected you would want to be with someone like me-” Komaeda started again, and for a minute, Hajime was startled by the confidence in his voice, until realizing that he meant the exact opposite(the long makeout session along with the rush of blood away from his brain had him forgetting his companion’s sickness). Komaeda thought Hajime didn’t  _ want _ him, as if the bulge in his pants wasn’t incredibly obvious.

At this point, four things had been established. Komaeda was painfully beautiful and painfully gay, and Hajime was painfully bisexual and, yes, painfully hard. 

“That’s not it at all, Komaeda,” Hajime said, once again desperately trying to get through his thick skull- he didn’t understand how Komaeda was so intelligent and so  _ fucking  _ dense when it came to socializing like a person. He was far too quick to jump directly to his own faults as the source of every problem, his luck and his outlandish personality seemingly responsible for every plot point in the bizarre game that had become their lives. “Of course, I, um, well, it should be obvious that I want to, well, do things with you-” Komaeda took a sharp breath inward, but Hajime pushed forward. “But we shouldn’t right now. You’re really sick. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’ve never been sick, Hinata-kun.” Of course, what he meant was that he’d always been sick. Hajime remembered this, too, and his stomach turned. Even if the current survivors all made it off the island somehow, was Komaeda going to live much longer? Hajime had no idea why all of these thoughts were running through his head. He’d not considered Komaeda this much in nearly all the time they’d been on Jabberwock. But clearly, things were changing.

“And there’s that. I can barely tell what you’re saying, so you can hardly consent to anything…”

“But I don’t want to. I promise.” Komaeda’s hands were back on Hajime’s shoulders, a hungry look in his exhausted eyes.

“I know you do. But it feels wrong. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Komaeda nodded solemnly, and Hajime was at least glad that he could move his body independently of the despair disease. “Hinata-kun, can you at least leave now?” His eyes grew innocent and wide, hands folded politely in his lap. 

“Of course.” Hajime took it upon himself to walk to the foot of the bed, an even more startled look growing on his companion’s face as he crawled into the side of the hospital bed next to the window. For what was probably the first time since Hajime walked into the room, Komaeda smiled  _ genuinely _ . And Hajime was glad to see it. Komaeda’s smiles were almost as characteristic of him as his hair, or his luck. Without them, he looked almost like a different person. Though his smiles weren’t always indicative of a happy situation(Hajime thought back to his laughing fit upon his plan being discovered during the first class trial), they were often sweet and reminded Hajime of how soothing Komaeda’s presence had been in their first days on the island. 

Hajime curled into Komaeda’s fragile form, reaching one arm across his slowly rising and falling chest(which allowed Hajime to feel just how quickly his weak heart was beating, which Hajime was pretty sure was adorable) and resting the other above his bedfellow’s head on the pillow, his hand idly playing with white curls. As he adjusted his head to rest on a bony shoulder, leaving a gentle kiss on Komaeda’s neck, he suddenly realized(yes, another sudden realization) just how fucking weird this day had become.

Komaeda was not the right person to fall in love with. Hajime knew this. Komaeda himself probably knew this. He had done, or at least planned to do, horrible things. He was cryptic, his intentions were absolutely indecipherable, and he was unpredictable. So why did all this… the hand holding, confessing, making out, and laying so close, so intimately… feel so natural? Hajime knew that if any one of their friends were to walk in(which Hajime expected to happen any moment now, and it would likely be Tsumiki, or an almost amusingly gullible Mioda), they would be at worst horrified and at best  _ very  _ confused by the scene currently unfolding in the hospital room.

But Hajime couldn’t bring himself to care. Komaeda clearly needed him, his hand gripping tightly onto Hajime’s shoulder even as he slowly drifted into a fever-drenched sleep. And Hajime liked Komaeda. Genuinely. As plain and understated as Hajime was himself, he found it almost charming how difficult Komaeda was to read. He’d been afraid to admit it- Komaeda’s cryptic speech was often a sign of something bad happening, a situation gone awry, and according to Komaeda, in desperate need of some hope. But seeing him like this, vulnerable and wanting nothing but to be understood, and yet, rendered literally physically unable to express what he truly wanted, Hajime understood him. 

He was nothing but a dying teenage boy, scarred by trauma, terrified of his next bad luck, struggling with his sexuality, which, for some reason, he was still ashamed of, despite the fact that literally everyone on the island with them had something about them  _ much _ more strange than being gay. He'd told Hajime that all he ever wanted before dying was to feel somebody's love. Why hadn't Hajime believed him? Yes, Komaeda explicitly told him that it was a lie, but that was just like him. He was so obviously afraid to face the truth. But the truth would come. 

It had come out today, despite everything. 

The sun was setting over the ocean, and Hajime could see it from the window. A stray ray of sun flew through, casting directly over Komaeda’s face, highlighting every one of his delicate features. His white hair and near-translucent skin looked golden in the light. He looked like a literal angel. He was beautiful. Hajime could never think it enough times to do him justice. So he made a decision.

“Komaeda?” He whispered gently. His cheekbones as pronounced as they were in the sunlight, Komaeda looked as if a too-loud voice could break him, and so Hajime made sure to be careful. 

“Mh?” Komaeda’s response was little more than a whimper, as he opened his eyes once more to look at Hajime, blinking against the sun, that smile creeping back onto his face. 

“You’re beautiful.” Hajime let the words escape his lips, consequence be damned, feeling as though if he let the words convulse against the insides of his skull any longer he would explode. So he whispered, delicately, into Komaeda’s collar bone. It was a simple compliment, seemingly lacking any emotional depth, but Hajime meant it in every sense of the word. Yes, his face was somehow both soothing and exciting to stare at all day, but he was also like some strange puzzle that was so difficult yet  _ so _ rewarding, so  _ beautiful _ to finally solve. Well, Hajime could guess. He was far from done. It was like playing a video game against Nanami. Impossible, unless you’re Komaeda. 

But laying in that bed, their hands and legs intertwined, feeling Komaeda’s delicate breathing as his chest rose and fell under his arms, the smell of his skin filling his mind, Hajime knew he was getting one step closer. 

One by one, the pieces were all coming together. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!!!!! (please leave a comment, I love you) my tweeter is @fruitelves!!


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